


I'll Give the Stars and the Sun

by dimeliora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Established Relationship, Incest, M/M, PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Five Times fic. Namely, five times they were intoxicated, and one time they weren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Give the Stars and the Sun

  
  
1\. "Suffragette City"- David Bowie  
  
  
They're drunk. So drunk Sam's only half sure that this is really happening. The hunt went all sorts of bad, and now he's pinned underneath Dean on the motel bed and his mouth is full of his brother's fingers. Half of him wants to suck on them and half wants to bite, so Sam does neither. Just keeps his hips undulating underneath Dean's as he feels the rough calluses rub against his tongue and he listens to the steady stream of filth pouring out of Dean's mouth. This is the way it always is though, and Sam's resigned himself to that. Hard and fast, some sort of valve that blows and then the tension leads them to a bar, to a bed, and then to an awkward morning after.  
  
Everything Dean says is predictable bullshit. "So hot" and "Fuck yes" and "Suck it bitch", and if the feel of Dean's bare chest rubbing against his or the sensation of his brother's hot length pushing through his boxers and almost touching Sam's equally hard and needy flesh wasn't so incredibly arousing he would push Dean off the bed and explain the difference between real sex and porno sex. Still, bullshit dialogue aside Dean's good in bed. Damn good, and whenever this is over even if they'll spend days not meeting each other's eyes the release is worth it. Sam can tell this isn't going to even be a full ride. This is going to end right here, and that's ok. That's fine.  
  
It's not that Sam wants more than this, and when the fingers leave his mouth and struggle to pull his boxers aside enough that Dean can slide one into him up to the second knuckle Sam gasps and moves with it. He feels Dean's cock rub into his from this position, and he's not sure if that's luck or Dean's skill. He's pretty sure his brother is still wearing his underwear. That he didn't magic it off, because he doesn't have any free hands. One is feeding fingers into Sam's ass and the other is holding Dean up so that he can get the right angle to hump against Sam.  
  
Heat and pressure, friction everywhere, and Sam thinks of the look on the girl's face when they admitted her husband didn't make it and that has his fingers digging into Dean's ass hard enough to leave bruises as he thrusts upwards and moans into the air between them. _He wants_. Wants Dean to fuck against him until all he can think of is the force of his brother's cock and the tension in his muscles. He lets one of his hands slide in between them, and he uses his hand to grasp their cocks together. The friction increases by a factor of a hundred and there's pain added to it because Sam's hand is dry, and he doesn't bother to gather precome and try to lubricate his grasp. He wants the pain, and from the increase in volume Dean wants it too. There's too much, too much in the air and too much in their heads, and Sam just wants to _get there_ , and be done. Just wants it over with.  
  
Dean speeds up, fucking into his fist and against his cock, and those fingers are at the wrong angle, but somehow Dean finds his prostate and Sam's arching up and coming. He lets out a cry and the sperm lubricates his grip enough that Dean's following him down seconds later with a sharp bark and teeth buried in Sam's chest.  
  
Afterwards they lie next to each other without touching, panting and staring at the ceiling. It's almost like an afterglow, and Sam dimly remembers what that's like. What it meant to be with someone who wanted this because they wanted it, and what it was like to share that closeness afterwards. Then Dean is rolling off the bed and staggering his way to the bathroom. Sam hears the shower kick on, promises himself he'll take one right afterwards, and then passes right the fuck out. His last coherent thought? _"Wham, bam, thank you ma'am."_ A thing he never tells Dean, because Bowie is like Bon Jovi. Only cool sometimes.  
  
  
2\. "Golden Brown"- The Stranglers  
  
  
Sam feels like a conquering hero. It's not that he figured out they were hunting a gorgon, or that they saved three young men from ending up statuary. No it's because _he_ saved _Dean_ , and Dean _hates that_. Hates it more than anything and will never admit it to Sam. It was a close thing too. He heard the monsters panting breaths, saw that Dean was pinned down at the end of the ravine, and like some movie action hero Sam slid down the rocky scree and popped up behind her before slicing her goddamn head off. He had so much momentum coming down the slope that it was like he hit a trampoline at the end, except the impact was jarring and shocking instead of buoying and fun. It was pretty epic, or so he'd say, except the first thing Dean did was to spring up and start shouting at him.  
  
"Sam! You idiot I told you to go after the teenagers! You could have been killed!" The whole time Dean's bitching he's picking his way across the uneven ground and over the body of the fallen monster. Sam's so hopped up on adrenaline and fear he can barely focus on what Dean's saying. Just the tone really. The tone is enough to piss him off.  
  
"Yeah? If I did that you'd be a lawn ornament right now Dean. Maybe you should say thank you?" He turns to walk away and prove how unaffected he is, and his leg collapses under him. Sam stares at it uncomprehendingly before it occurs to him that legs don't bend that way. Not outside of bad jokes and cartoons, and Dean somehow manages to catch him before he hits the rocks and dirt. His brother's hands are firm and hard as he pulls Sam up enough to wrap an arm around his own shoulders, and Sam has to lean down to help Dean hold him up.  
  
"Thanks for breaking your leg bitch. Any other great ideas tonight?" Sam watches the way Dean licks those pink lips, and there's something there that he can't put his finger on, but it's consumed by the raging pain that's traveling into his nerves in the wake of his adrenaline rush leaving. He focuses all his energy on getting to the car without making a sound, because even the slightest admission of pain will be the icing on Dean's bitch cake. Sam is not helping him make that concoction, and this is a shitty metaphor but he can't think straight for how bad his leg feels.  
  
They get in the car, and then they spend an inordinate amount of time in the ER before they get sent home. Sam gets a shot of Laudanum first though, and he doesn't even bother listening to Dean's rant as his brother pulls him out of the car and acts as a crutch to get them back into the motel room. Something about responsibility, and following orders, and carelessness. It doesn't matter, because in the sodium arc lights of the parking lot Dean's eyes glitter and shift like a forest at night full of fireflies, and his lips are so soft and warm looking Sam wants to crawl into them.  
  
Instead he gets dropped roughly on the bed, and that makes him laugh.  
  
"What's so fucking funny Sammy?" Dean's face is tight. So tight. And now they're where he started, because he's a hero and Dean's the damsel in distress. It takes a moment of studying Dean's darkening face before Sam figures out he said that aloud.  
  
"Damsel huh? Damsel Sammy? I'll show you a fucking damsel." They cut his pants off at the ER, and Sam watches as Dean practically rips off the paper thin boxers they left Sam to contain his modesty and then he's being hauled to the edge of the bed. His good leg is flung over Dean's shoulder, and his bad leg is propped along the floor so that it stays there. Dean's teeth sink into the meat of his flesh, but through the haze of the heavy-duty painkillers Sam can barely feel it. Then Dean's licking the spot, moving his tongue up and over Sam's thigh as something clicks, squirts, and then two cold and lubed fingers are shoving into him.  
  
He lets out a noise, fingers half-numb and scrambling for purchase in Dean's hair as those gorgeous lips wrap around the head of his cock and the two fingers push and shove opening instead of searching. It takes no time at all for Dean to declare him ready, and then his brother is pushing one hand against his left hip to hold him steady there so he doesn't jostle the broken leg, and the other hand is gripping Sam's thigh and spreading him while Dean shoves in.  
  
It's not enough preparation, but Sam's so drugged he doesn't care. Instead he listens as Dean talks in a voice barely distinguishable from a growl. "Gonna get yourself killed you crazy shit. Want me? Want to come Sammy? Fucking crazy for it ain't yah? Broken leg and hopped up on happy juice and all you can do is push and push 'til I give it to you."  
  
Sam's nodding, head moving separate from the part of his brain that wants to tell Dean to go fuck himself. He giggles at the irony of that, and Dean's mouth curls into a scowl. Sam's close though, so close, and he wants it. Wants to come. Which is why he's almost pissed when Dean's hand clutches the base of his cock and cuts off his orgasm.  
  
"Say it. Say you're my bitch. Say you're a slut for it." Dean's eyes are narrowed, dark, and Sam doesn't care. Doesn't care about any of it, because he needs it so fucking bad right now. Needs to be reminded.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah Dean. Yeah you fucker, I'm your bitch. Your bitch." It must be acceptable, because Dean roughly jacks him four times and then Sam is spurting everywhere. He's not even sure if he's conscious when Dean comes. He wakes in the morning, clean and tucked into the bed. Dean is sitting across the room with his head on the table and two cups of coffee beside him. He doesn't speak, but he holds out two big white pain pills and the coffee cup, and Sam accepts them graciously. The Laudanum must have been excellent, because the ache in his leg makes it hard to think straight now that it's gone. _"Never a frown, with golden brown"_ , and what the hell is that from?  
  
3."Under My Thumb"- The Rolling Stones  
  
  
Sam's furious. He's got Dean pinned against the wall of the motel room, one arm against his brother's throat and the other furiously working Dean's belt. The room smells of mildew, despair, and booze. Dean's eyes are heavy-lidded, dark, and he's breathing in short and hard bursts under the pressure from Sam's forearm as he twists and turns in Sam's hold. If he could break free Sam's pretty sure he would, but he's got him pinned and when the buckle finally lets go Sam pulls hard and listens to the rasp of leather against denim. This is going to be a rough night. Sam knows it, and he doesn't care. Doesn't care what it takes he's got a point to prove. Six whiskeys ago he could have explained what that point was, but now he can't even clearly remember because the perfume lingering on Dean is overpowering the smell of the room and making Sam fucking crazy.  
  
He hears the thunk of boots on the floor and realizes Dean's kicked off his shoes seconds before he gets the zipper down and pushes with his free hand while he flexes the fingers of the other one. Once the pants are down Sam sinks heavily to the thin carpet with a thunk and swallows the head of Dean's cock in one motion. He sinks as far as he can get, tongue running along the vein and teeth scraping, and Dean hisses and pulls his hair hard enough there's a shock of pain and Sam pinches his thigh in retaliation. He hears the grunt above him and slides further, until he's almost gagging on Dean and dripping spit down his own chin. It's messy, brutal, and Dean's making noises above him that leave Sam no doubts about his brother loving this. Of course he does. Dean likes it hard, just this side of painful, and most importantly dirty. Likes it dirty because he's a huge fucking slut, and Sam hasn't forgotten that part. Hasn't forgotten the little blonde in the tube top and the mini skirt. He almost did, but there's that whiff of flowers again and it all comes rushing back.  
  
Dean in the bar, the woman grinding in his lap and his green eyes dark and dangerous. How they met Sam's over the table, and then he was letting her pull him back towards the bathrooms like she had some kind of power over him. Like he couldn't resist. A quirk of amusement to those lips Sam knows so well, as if it was fucking hilarious that Sam was watching his brother get led for a quick and dirty blowjob in the filthy restrooms of this middle of nowhere bar. Sam had looked at the drink in his hand and thought about it for all of two seconds. Dean and the woman had been flirting for at least an hour, and what did Sam care? He could pick up his own fling, or he could go back to the room and masturbate, or he could-  
  
Honestly he couldn't explain how he ended up in the bathroom if he tried. All he knows is the girl was pressed against Dean, sucking at his neck, and then she was holding empty air and Sam was dragging his brother by the collar of the leather jacket he knows too well. Dragging Dean out the main room of the place and into the night air before practically throwing him into the car. Whatever the look was on Sam's face Dean kept his mouth shut, until they got back to the motel. Then Dean said the one thing Sam apparently couldn't let fly.  
  
"What, did you think you could do better?"  
  
Sam had him inside the room and pinned seconds later, and now he's drooling on purpose to let his fingers ride along the slick shaft and then slide under Dean's balls, tickling his perineum before he pushes two fingers in quick and hard. Dean's head makes a loud thunking sound against the wall, and Sam feels some kind of internal thrill he can't explain. He walks backwards on his knees, fingers still in Dean and leading him like it's a fucking leash. Laughing darkly at the way Dean's eyes widen or how awkward it is for him to walk with Sam's long fingers in his ass. When he finds Dean's prostate mid-step his brother stumbles hard and Sam uses reflexes and training to push his brother onto the bed instead of letting him face-plant.  
  
It takes seconds of disconnection to get his own pants off and then he's spitting on his cock before pushing Dean's legs apart and lining up. He meets Dean's eyes, and whiskey talks instead of good sense.  
  
"You'll fuck anything won't you?" There's something in Dean's face in that second, something troubled and surprised, and then it's gone when Sam plunges in and his face screws up. He stops half-way there, because he wants to hurt Dean not tear him. He waits until the muscles start to pulse, until Dean's shifting his hips and making thick sounds in the back of his throat, and then he finishes thrusting home. It's rough, the friction almost too intense with the severely limited amount of lube. Dean's cock bobs between them red and hard, precome leaking, and Sam watches how his brother twists and squirms before reaching for his own cock. He slaps Dean's hands away and sets a hard pace. He's standing and holding Dean's legs, lifting his brother's ass off the edge of the bed, and Dean is shaking under it as Sam hits that sweet spot again and again.  
  
He knows all the ways to break Dean down into his component parts. Knows the words that will make Dean weep inside, knows how to make Dean scream and beg, but he's not sure which way he wants it to go now. He was furious when he saw Dean look at him as the girl led him off. The comment at the door to the room didn't help anything, but Sam can't explain _why_ he's furious. Can't understand what it is about Dean being Dean that makes this different. It's just stress relief. It's just fucking. They've made that clear.  
  
Dean's eyes are screwed shut, his fingers tangled in the sheets because he knows Sam won't let him touch himself, and finally that husky and fucked-out voice breaks free. "Sam-Sammy please-fuck man touch me!"  
  
He almost does, reaches for it, because when they're like this Dean usually calls the shots. Dean makes the decisions, and Sam breaks tradition and obeys, but right now he can't. _Won't_ , because that anger is still burning in the back of his brain and there's this primal urge to hurt and mark.  
  
"No. Just this. You come on my dick or nothing at all." Dean's eyes fly open, and there's that surprise again laced with something else. Something Sam can't name or identify and he feels another sweep of rage fresh and thick in his mouth. Dean's not allowed to have looks he can't read. Sam doesn't have any. Dean always knows exactly what's going on in Sam's head. Why should his brother get privacy when Sam can't? He uses his grip on Dean's trembling thighs to pull his brother down hard on his cock and watches how Dean's head slams backwards into the mattress. Revels in the shout that escapes him, and the way he can't even seem to think of words to respond with other than panting and moaning and jerking.  
  
It takes a little while longer than normal, but when Dean's orgasm hits it's like he's being electrocuted, and Sam almost loses his grip on Dean's thighs as his brother twists and turns on his cock, screaming Sam's name and ripping at the ugly comforter. Sam pulls out at the last second and adds his load to Dean's on the flat planes of those abs he's licked more than once, and then he collapses beside Dean and tries to catch his breath.  
  
Whatever it was they don't discuss it. Sam runs his fingers along the planes and valleys of muscle, smears their come together, and wonders if this is something different. Tomorrow will be the same. No talking, and Sam will buy the coffee this time since he's pretty sure Dean's going to be sore. When the alarm goes off in the morning Sam squints at it and then looks past to see Dean face down in a pillow, fingers tapping half-conscious to the beat.  
  
 _"The change has come, she's under my thumb."_  
  
  
4\. "Turn the Page"- Bob Seger  
  
It's quite possibly the dumbest argument they've ever had, but there's a lot behind it and Sam understands that even if he questions whether Dean does or not. They've been hunting for two months straight, burning through cases like there's something riding behind them and whipping them onwards. They just finished a salt and burn in Tacoma, and now all he can think about is sleep. Except instead they're finishing a bottle of Jack as Dean waves his hands around and tries to convince Sam that Metallica's remake was better than Seger's original.  
  
"-plus man think about it. Hetfield's voice is just-damn perfect. And the video Sammy? They make it a whole different song. Not about hippies anymore. Not about performers. About desperation and need."  
  
"It's about strippers when Metallica does it isn't it? You want to analyze why you relate better to a story about strippers Dean?" His brother gives him a pointed glare, and then he's standing and pacing. Bottle hanging loosely between two fingers as he gestures angrily.  
  
"Fuck you Sam. Just because you're a prude doesn't mean I have to live my life like a fucking monk. Always judging me."  
  
So, maybe it's a stupid plan, but Sam fucking hates when Dean calls him a prude. Hates it more than anything else. His laptop is right there, open, and Sam finds Youtube and brings up the song in question. He raises an eyebrow, and then he stands and kicks off his shoes. He hooks two fingers under his shirt and starts to sway. Dean's sitting on the bed across from him now, eyes wide and unbelieving as Sam moves his hips slowly. It's not hard to keep coordination. Jessica loved dancing, and Sam got more than enough practice in his years at Stanford. That's a heavy thought, and Sam slides his shirt up and over his shoulders in one fluid motion before dropping in on the floor beside him.  
  
 _"There I go, turn the page."_  
  
The drums kick in a little heavier, and Sam slides his fingers along the ridges of hip bones before using one hand to pop open his belt buckle and the other to tease the button on his jeans. He listens to Seger talk about being outnumbered while his jeans slide down the floor and hit with a soft noise. He steps out of them and doesn't dare look at Dean before the tempo picks up and he's sliding his socks off. There's no sexy way to do it, but when he finally glances over Dean's eyes are glazed and he's drinking straight from the bottle while he watches Sam slip his thumbs under the elastic of his boxers and slide them down. He pauses at his thighs, and then gets them all the way off. He's naked now, moving slow and soft, and any second Seger will start to wail and Sam will go with it. He licks his lips once, and then sucks two fingers into his mouth. Mounts the bed as Seger lets out that legendary broken _"on the road again"_ and slips a finger inside himself.  
  
He's hard. So fucking hard, and there's no way to know if it's Dean watching or the thought of what he's about to do. The song ends to the agonized sound of the saxophone and Sam's finger is moving rhythmically as he props his shoulder against the mattress and grabs his own cock. Strips hard and with a purpose. It's almost like he's forgotten Dean is there. As if this was just him, alone, imagining his brother in front of him. Then there's something wet replacing his hand, and he frees it up to push his upper body off the bed and twist his head. Dean's got one hand in his pants, jerking himself off while his mouth works on Sam's heavy cock. Sam lets him. Loves it really. They've never done this before, and the music is still playing in his head while he fingers himself hard. The angles are all awkward, Dean can barely fit more than the head of his dick in his mouth, and he can see the outline of it hitting his brother's cheek as he works himself hard and fast.  
  
They finish like that, Dean's head twisted at an impossible angle and Sam's fingers buried in his own ass. Dean milks him after the orgasm, sucks him through the end and out to the other side, and then Sam collapses heavily and misses crushing Dean's head with his pelvis by mere inches. He grabs Dean's wrist thoughtlessly, licks the cum off Dean's fingers, and his brother moans. The last coherent statement Sam makes is husky and thick, and Dean's eyes watch him as he mouths it out around wet digits.  
  
"Not a fucking prude."  
  
  
  
5\. "Simple Man"-Lynyrd Skynyrd  
  
Dean's easy to understand sometimes. Sam gets what makes him tick, and that's how they work off each other. Except tonight Dean is off, and Sam's not sure why. There's a glint to him that Sam's never seen before. An edge that makes Sam edgy too. Tequila is not in their usual rotation, but that's what Dean is drinking. They've been doing this for a year now, and Sam's pretty sure there's an undertone of urgency in the way Dean is slamming the shots back. Usually it's an organic thing. They have a bad time, they drink, they fuck. An equation even the worst math student could understand and balance. It's not that they set out for it. Really it isn't. Something inside them builds up, and then there they are, one pinning the other down and making it happen. Teeth and claws and harsh words. That's them. It's not that Dean doesn't look like this will be one of those nights, it's that Dean is working for it. Working for the level of intoxication that excuses being naked and inside of your own flesh and blood.  
  
So Sam goes along with it. Takes his own shots and lets Dean rant and rave about the witch in the last city claiming that he's in love with someone. Sam didn't believe it either, because honestly who? Cassie is a long-forgotten memory. They were good together, and part of Sam wishes it could have worked out for Dean. Wishes his brother could have had something just for himself. Instead he's left here with Sam, following their father's orders like always to simply be hunters. To put their lives on the line for strangers. Dean would have made an excellent father. An excellent husband. He could have _been_ something, and instead he lives this fringe life and seeks some sort of release from Sam when all he really wants is-  
  
But what does Dean want? Sam doesn't even know. Hasn't asked in years, and anytime he does it's always during a fight. It's always set in harsh tones, the answer inconsequential to the drive to hurt and mar. He takes his next shot and swallows hard against the burn. Dean's eyes are shining now. Something hot and heavy lying just out of Sam's reach, and that's when he puts his hand out almost as an afterthought and traces the line of Dean's mouth. Thumb rubbing against the corner and pointer finger lingering on the slight pout of the lower line. Dean's eyes flutter shut for half a second, and then he flips the table and the glasses and bottle go flying and crash somewhere beyond Sam's sight line.  
  
He's lifted under his arm, thrown on the bed, and he bounces half off before he can follow what's going on. Dean's on him then, a force of nature, and Sam feels his sweats being ripped down and his shirt being pulled up at the same time. Dean doesn't take it off though, just pulls it up so that Sam's face and arms are trapped in it, and then his teeth are sinking into Sam's side and his hands are somewhere else. Somewhere Sam can't see through the shirt, and he tries to struggle it off, but Dean's hand clamps down and holds it there.  
  
"Fucking stay still Sam. Stay right there." Dean's voice is a command. Heavy and threatening, and Sam shivers despite himself and holds perfectly still. They've been rough, but they've never done anything like this. There's an urgency Sam can't pin down. Something he can't explain. He wants to, but alcohol and confusion are like a fog he's trapped in. So he holds still and feels as Dean bites and licks his way down to Sam's groin, wraps his tongue around Sam's balls and ignores his suddenly heavy and aching cock.  
  
Sam has to fist the shirt to hold still. To hold on, and then he hears one of the seams give when Dean's tongue slides down his perineum and his muscles contract unthinkingly. They've _never_ done this, and Sam gasps and bites thin, soft cotton as Dean's tongue licks across the clenched muscle of his hole and then worms its way in. Sam's making noises he doesn't even recognize as Dean works the slick length of his tongue into Sam and wiggles it.  
  
"What-holy shit Dean-"  
  
A finger slides in beside Dean's tongue, and then they're working together to break Sam down beyond any chance at logical conversation. Instead Sam grips his own shirt and thrusts his hips so that Dean's tongue works deeper inside of him. He wants this. Wants it so bad because it's like Dean wants it too. This has always been simple, easy, and suddenly it seems complicated. Dean's got two fingers in now, and he uses them to spread Sam open and lick around. His brother is basically eating him out, and it's almost like it means something. Like it matters. _Sam wants it_.  
  
He hears more of the shirt rip when Dean slides away, and there's the sound of fumbling and cloth, then the snick of the lube bottle, and then Dean's sliding into him. There's a burn, and a hard pull, and then Sam's whole world narrows down to the sound of Dean talking through the shirt as his cock plows into Sam with way more force than is strictly necessary.  
  
"What do you think Sammy? Think I'm simple? Think you know everything? I can see it on your face. See everything." Dean tilts Sam's hips up, and there's the threatening sound of the shirt ripping as Sam's arms spasm and his thighs shake where they're hooked over Dean's. "You don't know shit." Thrust and pull, thrust and pull, and Sam's melting. Fucking falling apart as Dean hits everything just right, and blunt nails score down his sides and grip his hips. "You don't know shit about me. I can do this any time. Why? Why do you let me?"  
  
Sam can't think. Can't form words. Can't make anything come out of his mouth except Dean's name, and the light in the room is filtered through the cotton as a gray fog that perfectly encapsulates any functioning brains cells Sam might have had before Dean started licking and fucking them out of him. He comes like a train crash, shirt finally giving way under the tension and he gets a brief glimpse of Dean's face screwed down tight and hard, wrapped around some emotion Sam can't name, before his eyes slam shut and he's riding out his climax on Dean's dick.  
  
 _"Baby be a simple man."_ Blares through the speakers the next morning, and Dean sends him another one of those unfathomable looks before he presses down on the gas pedal.  
  
  
 **And one time they weren't.**  
  
6\. "For Your Love"- The Yardbirds  
  
When Sam wakes up Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed naked, his head down in his hands and his shoulders tight and unmoving. It's almost hard to know if Dean is breathing. For a second Sam just takes it in. The way the light straining through the motel curtains highlights Dean's hair, accentuates the lines of his body. Shadows pool at the base of Dean's spine and Sam can see freckles along his brother's shoulder and a fading bruise at the bottom of his ribcage. He watches the way the skin plays along the bones when Dean breathes, and a tension he didn't know he had about that stillness dissipates. He waits for Dean to talk, but nothing happens. There's a classic rock station going on the old clock radio, and Dean doesn't seem to be aware of it. Doesn't seem to be aware of anything.  
  
Sam almost moves, almost, but the air-conditioner shifts the curtain just right and the light plays over Dean's hands. The slightly crooked knuckle Dean got from a bad fall snapping two of his fingers when he was sixteen, and the light dusting of hair along the knuckles. It occurs to Sam that those fingers have touched every inch of his body, that they've been inside him, and suddenly there's a tension in the air Sam can't name. Something thick and living that breathes between them and Sam is afraid of it. He knows the feeling. This is the edge of revelation, and whatever it is he's about to realize he can't come back from. The posture Dean has taken suggests his brother already has the answer, has had it for a long time, and Sam doesn't know if that's good or bad. Instead he stays very still and simply watches Dean. Watches and waits. Finally, Dean breaks the silence, and Sam forces himself not to run.  
  
"I don't want it to be like this anymore Sam. You're not a goddamn sex toy. You're not a hole to pour my frustrations in." He sounds like he's been swallowing acid, and Sam suddenly wants to grab Dean's shoulder. Cover his mouth and shut him up, but this has gone too far for that. "You're my brother. You're my world. I love you."  
  
Is Dean dying? Sam's afraid to ask. Afraid that maybe this is some sort of goodbye. He reaches out then, touches Dean, and feels how cold his skin is. He must have been sitting there a long time, and somehow they've finally found a motel with an AC unit that does its job too well. He pulls once, and Dean lets himself be dragged backwards into the bed. Lets Sam manhandle him under the sheets and against his body. The cool of Dean's skin makes Sam shiver, but he holds Dean close and rubs his arms. Rubs any skin he can touch while Dean hides his face in Sam's neck and just talks. Talks like it's all been bottled up for years and suddenly the pressure is too much. It occurs to Sam this is the exact opposite sort of unbolting they usually engage in.  
  
"I'd do anything to keep you here. I'd hold you down and fuck you 'til you couldn't walk. Tie you up and mark you so anyone else would know you were fucking _mine_. I need you. So bad it scares me sometimes, but it's there. Just there. I went about this all wrong Sammy, and I get that. I do. But it has to change. We do it right or we don't do it at all. You love me back or you don't. Just don't-fuck just tell me what you want, because I'd do anything for you but I can't do this. Can't keep debasing you just to make you stay. I'd give you the whole world Sam, but I won't keep destroying you."  
  
Sam absorbs every word, feels the play of Dean's lips and teeth and tongue over his throat, and considers that. Is that how it is? He always thought it was just something that happened naturally when they were fucked up, but is it something else? Has Sam been pushing, subtly, subconsciously, pushing for Dean to do this when he needs to feel the worst? It would make sense. Wouldn't be the first time really, and isn't that an awful thought.  
  
He can have this. Can have everything he's ever really wanted without considering it. He remembers the woman in the bar and the incoherent jealous rage he was pushed into. Remembers the way he laughed when the witch said Dean was in love and how hurt Dean looked. The expressions were't unreadable, Sam just refused to read them. He remembers the way Dean licked him open last week, the desperate edge to his brother's movements, and how hard Dean worked to not let Sam see his face.  
  
So Sam does what he can. He tilts Dean's head up and really looks at him. How tight that mouth is, how hard Dean's jaw is working not to shake, and how focused the green eyes are. He takes it all in and then presses his lips against Dean's as softly as he can.  
  
It's new really. All new and shining but familiar the way the Impala looks after Dean's spent a particularly long afternoon detailing it. They move slow, Sam underneath and Dean on top. There's no haze from liquor or painkillers, no rage or tension, just an exploration. Dean licks every inch of skin he can find, tastes them slow and soft, and Sam catalogues the noises Dean makes or the soft wet slide of his mouth. Sam just lets him, and Dean fills him up with a warmth he didn't even know his brother was capable of. When it was rough and needy Sam always thought Dean was good. This is amazing. This is earth-shattering, and when Dean licks him open again and then enters him they're face to face and Sam's unable to talk. Unable to do more than gasp and moan and hold on.  
  
Dean's always been the center, the strong and solid, and Sam's always known that if it came to it he'd be able to lean on his brother. Now he grips Dean's biceps and gasps his need into Dean's mouth. They eat into each other as Dean thrusts slow and deep, and it takes longer than usual but Sam's orgasm is devastating. Afterwards all he can do is hang on to Dean's strength and shake. Shake like he's coming apart, and Dean's the only thing holding him down on the planet. The only thing that can keep him alive. Which is probably true.  
  
In the afterglow, the real afterglow, they lie together and touch. Just light brushes of fingers on muscles and skin. When the Yardbirds come on Sam can't explain why, but he laughs low in his throat and Dean's eyes sparkle brightly. That husky voice sounds better than anything Keith Relf ever managed. "I'd give you the moon if it were mine to give." Sam presses his lips against Dean's temple and listens to the husky song. Later, when the lax calm that the sex gave them wears off Dean will not admit to this moment. Will probably mock it honestly, but for now Sam can enjoy his brother's descent into chick-flick territory. If nothing else, Sam can imagine the light blush that will be there when he sings the chorus line and Dean's reminded of just how soft and vulnerable he can be.


End file.
